YowoooOOO! Bertha howled in pain as the gar bit her short, floppy ear.
Crack! The man hit the gar on the head with the end of his fishing branch.
Yusssssss!!! The gar let out a sound so menacing, the man jumped back.
Splash! The gar flipped over and dropped into the river.
For a moment there was only the sound of water sloshing.
“Shoot, we lost that one, Bertha,” the man said as he stared into the river. He patted the dog. “Well, it’s okay, gal. That thing was too ugly to put on a dinner plate anyway.”
Wuff-rrruff-duff! Bertha agreed. It meant, “Worse than an armadillo!”
Bartleby was still on the rocky ledge where the gar had dropped him. He was afraid to dive into the water. He was afraid to back up onto the mud bank. So he didn’t move at all—he just hid in his shell.
“Well now, here’s something we kin take back to the restaurant, Bertha,” he heard the man say. Then a hand lifted Bartleby up and whisked him away.
PART Three
21
Chef Jerry’s
In a truck as red as his ear patches, Bartleby rested on the seat between the man called Chef Jerry and the dog called Bertha. When the dog nudged Bartleby’s carapace with her nose, Chef Jerry said, “Better leave it alone for a while, Bertha. I expect it’s all worn out. This brave little critter put up quite a fight aginst that gar.” With his free hand he reached over and picked Bartleby up. “See how the back of its shell is curved under? That means it’s a boy. Think I’ll call ’im Rocky.”
Wuff-fuff-fuff-muff! Bertha barked. Which meant, “It’s my turtle, too. If it wasn’t for me, the fish monster would have eaten him.” There was dried blood on her ear where the gar had bitten her.
“You were a big help, Bertha. You deserve an extra-good dinner tonight. I’ll make sure you git the scraps left over from the nightly special.”
With her wide pink tongue, Bertha licked Bartleby’s carapace. Then the dog put her head out of the window and let the breeze cool her ear.
Nightly special? Does he mean me? Bartleby wondered. He had to get away! But he was too exhausted to think clearly. The rocking and bumping of the truck was like the rolling river. In spite of his fear, he fell asleep.
He didn’t wake up until the red truck stopped. “Welcome to Chef Jerry’s Restaurant,” the man said as he lifted Bartleby off the seat. “C’mon into my kitchen, Rocky.” He tucked Bartleby under an arm and carried him around to the back door.
Bertha followed right behind them. Her mouth was open and she was drooling a trail of saliva.
Chef Jerry set Bartleby down on the counter. He filled a giant pot with water and put it on the stove. Then he filled a smaller pot with water and put it on the counter. “You need a bath before you meet our diners, Rocky.” The man chuckled as he lifted Bartleby up and placed him in the vessel. With a scratchy brush he began scrubbing the mud and algae off Bartleby’s carapace.
Bartleby pulled in his head and limbs as tightly as he could. A long time ago when he’d lived with a family, the mother had given him baths. But she’d never put him in a cooking pot.
When the cleaning was finally over with, Chef Jerry dried Bartleby on his apron. “Come on, Rocky. Let’s go out to the garden. Maybe then I’ll git you out of your shell.”
Out of my shell! Doesn’t he know that I’m attached to my shell? Bartleby began to struggle, but Chef Jerry only held him tighter.
“Calm down, Rocky. It’s almost over.” The man stuffed a round, leafy ball into one of his big apron pockets. To Bartleby it smelled like a new kind of lettuce. Was it a last meal to fatten him up? Bartleby didn’t think he could swallow a thing.
The man also picked up a tool with a wooden handle and a sharp silver blade. He placed it in another apron pocket. Then he scooped up Bartleby. “Time to meet Princess,” Chef Jerry said as they entered the garden.
What do I care who eats me? Bartleby thought glumly. At least the gar would have been quick about it.
From inside his shell he peered at the place. The garden was full of white tables and chairs, and Bartleby heard the sound of water trickling. He edged his head out a teeny bit. In the center of the yard was the biggest bowl he’d ever seen. It was made of stone, and it was filled with enough water to bathe Bertha. Inside the bowl, a fish stood on its tail. Water spouted out of its mouth and fell like rain.
Chef Jerry set Bartleby on the wide edge of the stone bowl. He put the lettuce ball there, too. From his apron pocket he extracted the shiny blade. He lifted his big arm and pointed the blade downward.
Mmmrph, mmmrph, mmmrph, Bertha whimpered.
“Good-bye bayou life,” Bartleby whispered.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! The sharp blade flew through the air and pierced its mark. When the man was through, the lettuce ball was a pile of neatly chopped pieces.
“Here’s some tasty cabbage to welcome you to your new home, Rocky.” Chef Jerry leaned over the bowl and spread some of the leaves onto the surface of the water. “The rest is goin’ into the nightly special—catfish stew.” Gently, he set Bartleby into the bowl. “Now go on and see Princess.”
22
Rocky and Princess
Bartleby sank down to the smooth, polished stones that covered the bottom of the bowl. He didn’t poke his head out to look around. He could never live in a bowl again, no matter how big it was. He had to get back to Seezer! But even if he managed to climb out, Bartleby had no idea where he was, or which way to go.
Suddenly he was very tired. Maybe if he napped, he could dream the way back. At least if he was asleep, his loneliness would go away for a while. He pulled in his head and waited.
Soon the floaty feeling that came before a nap began. There were flashes of color and light. Then he saw a small oval pond filled with fresh, sparkling water. Tender green plants waved their leaves at him. Warm, squishy mud invited him to dig. Inside his shell he began to feel peaceful.
“Bartleby! Bartleby!” a voice called. Something shoved his carapace. “Bartleby!”
Bartleby struggled to stay asleep. He didn’t want to leave the wonderful pond. But some annoying creature kept prodding his shell the way Bertha had with her snout. It wouldn’t stop calling him. Finally, he opened his eyes and looked out.
A turtle was staring at him. She had a glossy green shell and fiery orange ear patches. When she opened her mouth, a stream of bubbles burst out. “Don’t you remember me? I’m Lucky Gal.”
Above his plastron, Bartleby felt a great ache. “You’re only a dream,” he said. “Lucky Gal was eaten. Or else she’s back in the bayou with some new friends. You’re not really her.” He pulled back into his shell.
But the dream turtle turned around and stuck her right rear web in after him. “Oh, yes I am! Count my toes!” she ordered.
“Go away and leave me alone.”
This time, the webbed foot kicked Bartleby in the snout. “Count!”
“All right. One, two, three, f—but there are no more!” Bartleby was so flabbergasted, it took him a moment before he could ask, “Lucky, is it really you?”
The turtle withdrew her web. “Of course it is!”
Slowly, Bartleby emerged from his shell. Under Lucky Gal’s shiny gaze he felt a little shy. “I looked everywhere for you. I thought I’d never see you again. What happened?”
“The same thing that happened to you, I suspect. Chef Jerry wanted a turtle for the restaurant’s new fountain.”
“Fountain? You mean this bowl?”
“Yes.” Lucky snatched a shred of cabbage leaf that came floating by and chewed it quietly for a moment. “Do you remember the day I went to visit Digger and Baskin without you?”
“The day you disappeared,” Bartleby said.
“Yes. I was on my way when Fishguts jumped out from behind a tree. He chased me all the way to the far end of the swamp and into the woods. I was so frightened, I kept traveling farther and farther. Then I came upon the levee. I’d never been that far be
fore, and I was curious. I wanted to see the Mighty Mississippi. So I climbed over the levee. But by the time I reached the riverbank, I was exhausted. I couldn’t crawl another step when Chef Jerry picked me up.”
Bartleby nodded. “He caught me near the river, too. I was trying to escape from an alligator gar. Instead I got captured by a dog and a man.”
Lucky Gal bumped up against his side. “Don’t worry. You’ll soon see this isn’t such a bad place. Chef Jerry feeds me more than I can finish. There is never a dry spell in the fountain. And no shell-hunting creatures dare come near. Bertha sees to that. She’s been my only friend here.”
Only a dog for a friend? How different from bayou life—and how lonely it sounded to Bartleby. Although he was very relieved to see Lucky Gal, he could never be Bartleby of the Fountain! He would stay with Lucky for a while—but then he was going to escape.
As the two turtles nibbled the spicy cabbage leaves at the water’s surface, Bartleby eyed the spouting fish at the center of the bowl. It was the shiny gold color of some fish in the swamp, but it had been out of the water longer than any real fish could ever be. And when he swam over and bumped against it, it clanged like Chef Jerry’s fishing pail. Still, Bartleby wondered how even a false fish could keep spitting water like that without ever running out. It was amazing!
After Bartleby and Lucky Gal had finished up every bit of cabbage, they swam around the fountain. Lucky told Bartleby about the humans that would come to Chef Jerry’s later to eat in the garden. “They’re harmless,” she assured him. “They only want to watch us. And their hatchlings can be very amusing.”
Bartleby wasn’t so sure he wanted to be in a place with hungry humans. And swimming in circles was beginning to make him queasy. He stopped in front of a crack in the wall of the fountain. It started out long and flat. Then it rose into a curve with two bumps that made it look like the head of an alligator. There was even a jagged part like a toothy jaw. Suddenly he felt like being alone.
“I’m tired. I’m going to take a nap,” he told Lucky. He stroked down to the bottom and pulled into his shell. But instead of sleeping, he thought about Seezer. He wondered if his old friend was still angry with him—or if he ever thought of Bartleby at all.
At dinnertime, Lucky Gal called to him from the surface. “Bartleby, it’s time to come out. The humans like to watch us while they eat.”
But Bartleby only tried to dig himself under the stones at the bottom. He hadn’t forgotten about the bath in Chef Jerry’s cooking pot.
“Bartleby! The humans’ hatchlings will feed us bits of Chef Jerry’s delicious bread. They say he is the best baker in the city.”
Bartleby didn’t care about bread. But the thought of human hatchlings was pleasantly familiar. He couldn’t resist taking a peek at them. Cautiously, he swam to the surface. He poked his head up next to Lucky’s.
“I had three boys once,” he told her. “The youngest one, Davy, was my best friend—though sometimes he could be rough.”
“These young humans aren’t allowed to touch us. Bertha doesn’t let anyone get too close.” Lucky Gal began swimming toward the platform that held the spouting fish. “Come on. The best view is from up there.” She began clambering up on the sturdy shelf.
It was fun to watch the humans eat. “I think they have to use those silver sticks because their limbs are too short to reach their mouths,” Lucky whispered.
“No—it’s because adult humans don’t like to touch things that are sticky or squishy,” Bartleby explained. “But my boys always gobbled up food with their hands when the mother wasn’t looking.” For once he felt like he knew more than Lucky Gal. He eyed the diners as they ate piles of crawfish, bowls of lettuce, and big plates of gummy snails. “Sometimes the boys offered me little tastes,” he said. But to his disappointment, the diners seemed to finish everything Chef Jerry brought them.
Their hatchlings were different, though. They finished their meals quickly. Then they came running to the fountain in the center of the garden. “Look—a new turtle! Princess has a friend,” a girl with a yellow tail at the back of her head announced when she saw Bartleby on the pedestal under the spouting fish.
“He’s awesome! Look how big he is,” a taller boy observed. “He looks really strong.”
Bartleby stretched his neck out as far as it would go. He held his head very high.
“Come on, let’s swim for them. Maybe they’ll toss us some bread crumbs.” Lucky slipped off the platform into the water.
Bartleby plunged in behind her. After all this time away from humans, it felt strange to be stared at by them. But when he saw the happy faces surrounding the fountain, he began swimming faster. He dove under the water and popped up in different places to surprise the boys and girls. Once he even paddled backward, all the way around the big, stone bowl.
“Look—that turtle is moonwalking!” a boy cried. The brown fur on his head was as spiky as a hedgehog’s. The other human hatchlings squealed with delight.
“Here, Princess,” called a girl with curly black fur on her head. She tossed a large crumb of bread into the water. Lucky paddled over and snapped it up.
A small boy with the same tight black curls tugged at the girl’s hand. “Throw one for the other turtle,” he begged.
“All right.” The girl tossed another crumb toward Bartleby.
Bartleby had tasted bread before, but usually it was bland and boring. To be polite, he nibbled at it anyway. “This is pretty good,” he whispered to Lucky.
“Yes, it is. Every morning, Chef Jerry tosses out the day-old bread for the birds. They fly from all over to eat it.”
The human hatchlings began throwing more crumbs. Lucky and Bartleby gobbled them up. But the smallest boys and girls couldn’t throw very far. They just dropped their pieces over the side of the fountain.
Lucky Gal stayed near the center of the big, stone bowl. But Bartleby wanted more bread, so he paddled closer to the edge where the pieces were floating. As he did, he noticed a yellow-furred boy who looked like Davy.
“Look, I can almost reach him!” The little boy leaned over and splashed his hand in the water.
Bartleby backpaddled away from the wiggling fingers. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bertha rise from under a lilac bush and trot toward the fountain. With a gentle nudge of her big head, she lifted the hatchling’s hand out of the water.
The boy laughed. He reached into the fountain again. Once more, Bertha lifted it out with a toss of her head.
RrrruFF MrruFF! she barked, but not too loudly. It meant, “Please don’t touch the turtle. But you can pet me if you want to.” She licked the boy’s sticky cheek.
Yuck! Bartleby swam away before she licked him, too.
At the sound of Bertha’s bark, Chef Jerry came out of the kitchen. He grinned at the hatchlings surrounding the fountain.
“What’s the new turtle’s name?” asked the girl with the yellow tail on her head.
“That’s Rocky,” Chef Jerry told her. “Looks like he’s pretty happy in his new home, doesn’t he?”
23
Crumbs and Champions
Bartleby felt a gentle warmth on his carapace. He poked his head out. Morning sunlight was streaming through the water. He looked around for Lucky Gal, but she wasn’t on the bottom. Then he stretched his neck up and saw her yolk-yellow plastron floating at the surface. She was paddling slowly with her head down low as if she were stalking something.
Quietly, he swam up and scanned the surface. A fat moth was beating its clear wings against the water. Bartleby’s webs tensed as he watched its fuzzy black-and-brown body bob up and down. He held his breath as the creature twitched its antennae, alert for danger.
Suddenly Lucky popped up behind the insect. Bartleby’s heart pounced with her. “Yes!” he whispered as she grabbed the moth between her jaws. The sight of Lucky with wings protruding from either side of her mouth made him chuckle.
“Good catch!” he called as he paddled toward her.
Lucky Gal swallowed the rest of the moth. “I try to keep my hunting skills sharp—just in case.”
Bartleby blinked at her. “I thought Chef Jerry feeds you more than you can eat.”
“So what?” Lucky flicked her short, slender tail. “I’m still a bayou turtle. I still have bayou ways.”
“Then let’s go home!” Bartleby couldn’t keep his webs from splashing the water. “We’ll leave as soon as I see a route in my dreams. That’s how Seezer and I began our journey from New York.”
Lucky Gal bumped his carapace sharply. “Forget it. I’m not going anywhere.”
“But why?”
Instead of answering, she turned and swam away. When she did, Bartleby could see her ruined rear web.
“What a beetlebrain I am,” he moaned. “Lucky is so capable in the water, I forgot about her missing toes. She could never crawl all the way home from here.”
In the afternoon, Bartleby saw the red truck roll into the driveway that ran along the side of the restaurant. Bertha jumped out and came running up to the fountain. Prrruh! Prrruh! came a rumble from deep in her throat. It meant, “Princess!”
Lucky swam to the edge. “Hi, Bertha. What’s the news?”
Mrrruff, rrruff! Bertha barked. It meant, “Yummy rabbit stew for dinner tonight.”
“Rabbit! Yuck!” Bartleby whispered under his breath.
Bertha’s dark eyes widened until the whites showed. Her hearing was better than Bartleby realized. RrrrrRrrrr-Rrrr, she crooned. It meant, “Don’t worry. Plenty of fish and veggies, too.”
“Thanks,” Bartleby replied. He hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings.
“Let’s all bask,” Lucky Gal said. She hauled herself up onto the wide stone rim of the fountain, right next to Bertha. The dog leaned over and licked Lucky’s carapace.
“C’mon up, Rrrocky!” Lucky called. The teasing tone was back in her voice.
A tiny sigh escaped from Bartleby’s throat. He still didn’t like dogs much. But he was relieved that Lucky wasn’t upset with him anymore. He dug his claws into the stone and climbed onto the ledge. Once more, Bertha leaned over. When he saw her pink tongue coming, Bartleby squinched his eyes shut—but this time he stifled his yuck!
Bartleby of the Big Bad Bayou Page 9